


Still Here

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of captivity, Captivity, Fever, Gen, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Isolation, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Past Child Abuse, Protective Hunk (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Sick Lance (Voltron), Tortured Lance (Voltron), long term captivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: “Find anything good?”Pidge’s voice crackled over the headset.Shiro swallowed.Glanced down at the trembling form in his arms.“I…” his own voice shook. “I found Lance.”/Lance has been rescued by his team after a month of captivity. He’s sick, injured, and scared doesn’t even begin to cover how terrified he is. There’s far more to heal than just a broken body, but Team Voltron will not give up. They brought him home and now they are going to bring him back. They know their Lance is still in there. And they are going to find him.
Relationships: Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Lance (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance & Shiro (Voltron), Lance & Voltron: Legendary Defender Team
Comments: 234
Kudos: 979





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Very early season two  
>  **Warning notes:** Nothing graphic but references to torture, isolation, inhumane treatment, illness (pneumonia, specifically), recovery, and allusions to child abuse (Keith)

The first thing Shiro noticed was the cold.

The second thing was the smell.

It was negated by the temperature but even so there was a dampness, a sickness, to the air.

And there was no mistaking the sharp tang of blood. 

Shiro swallowed and took a hesitant step into the dark room that looked more like a cell over what they’d assumed was some sort of vault, hidden deep in the Galra base and only located thanks to Pidge’s hacking.

He tried not to get his hopes up as to what it could mean, that after nearly a month, maybe…

But…

But if he found him here, in this condition, then…

Shiro didn’t know what to pray for.

So he didn’t. He just took another step into the room, wincing as his foot made a dull _splash_ in a puddle, and his helmet light searched out the space with the only other light source coming from the open door and the faintest glow in the far right corner.

It was there Shiro focused his attention but the light didn’t discern any sort of figure. The light seemed to be part of some machine and Shiro traced it along the wall to a… a hose? The nozzle was attached and fixed pointedly across the way to the darkest corner of the room.

Shiro slowly, slowly turned his head, beam sweeping through the gloom.

It illuminated a figure.

Shiro’s heart stopped.

It couldn’t be.

But it…

It was.

God.

Shiro took a staggering step forward. 

No.

No.

“Lance,” he choked out.

Was he…?

He couldn’t be…

But he wasn’t moving.

Wasn’t reacting.

He was just…

Just _lying_ there; curled inwards on his side, completely bare. His hands were chained to the wall in front of him, no more than a few inches of give, and dragging his arms up the damp stone. 

Was he breathing?

Shiro couldn’t tell.

His back was covered in bruises; dull splotches Shiro’s headlamp picked out. Blood or water or maybe both pooled beneath him and as the beam swept up to Lance’s head he made out the ties of a gag pressed into dark hair and another tie further up. 

Blindfolded.

Shiro saw red.

He also saw the faintest rise of Lance’s too slender shoulder and it tempered his anger for the moment as relief shot through him.

Breathing.

He was alive.

Thank God.

But…

But God, what…?

What had…?

Shiro knelt down, shaking hands hovering over Lance. Did he try to wake him? Move him? He didn’t see any injuries that would indicate doing so would do more harm than good, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something; Lance was still curled around his chest and pressed as he was to the wall Shiro couldn’t get a good look.

Blindfold first, he decided. It was a tight knot but nothing the knife he’d taken to carrying around couldn’t cut through. He pulled the offending strip away a second later and chucked it over his shoulder.

Gag next.

It was a hardy material, some sort of cord, but no match for the knife again. Shiro tugged on one end of it, having to bring his other hand around to gently prod at Lance’s jaw to get him to release it.

The boy did with a soft shudder.

Was he waking up?

“Lance?” Shiro called his name again, placing his flesh hand ever so lightly on the upturned shoulder. “Lance, buddy?” his voice cracked. “Can… can you hear me?”

No response except a weak, painful sounding cough that shook the entire slender body.

Not conscious.

He didn’t know which he preferred at the moment.

He wanted Lance to wake up.

He wanted him to not be in pain.

He wanted this to be a nightmare.

God, why had this…?

This couldn’t be…

Shiro shook his head and went for the chains. 

His prosthetic lit up a sick purple, washing the scene in its glow and only highlighting how _small_ Lance looked, how thin and sick, and he reached over Lance, aiming for where the chains connected to the wall, bracing his other hand at the base of Lance’s wrists to hold them steady.

Sparks flew at the connection.

Shiro intercepted them with his own arm but it was apparently still enough to rouse Lance somewhat as he gave a tiny whimper and his hands jerked in Shiro’s grip.

Shiro immediately stopped.

“Lance, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Shiro murmured, words breathy.

Lance only trembled.

“I’m, I’m almost done, buddy,” Shiro comforted. “Just one more tick, all right? Hold on for me.”

As if Lance hadn’t been doing that this whole time. Holding on to hope, waiting for them to rescue him.

And they hadn’t.

Not soon enough. 

Lance gave another barely audible whimper.

They’d failed him.

God, they’d failed him so badly.

Shiro’s throat was thick as he cut through the final link and the remaining chains hit the ground with dull clanks as gravity took them down. 

Lance shuddered.

Another wet cough sounded.

His eyes remained closed.

“Lance?” Shiro whispered.

No response.

Shiro wasted no more time.

He gently slipped one arm beneath Lance’s back, his other at the bend of his knees, and lifted the naked form into his arms, cradling him close to his chest.

“ _—ro, report now or I’m sending Keith and I’ll have him put the fear of God into you for scaring me,”_ Pidge crackled into his ear as he moved out of the sick, dark cell into the hall, the barest traces of panic in the words. _“I mean it. Respond right now Shiro.”_

He dimly realized radio signals hadn’t worked in there. 

“Here,” he managed, voice an echo of what it normally was. “I’m here.”

“ _Thank God,”_ Pidge gave a heavy sigh of relief. _“I thought… vault probably blocked the transmission signal, should’ve realized.”_ There was a breathy, not at all hysterical laugh, and then she asked far too brightly, “ _Find anything good?”_

Shiro swallowed.

“I…”

He glanced down at the boy in his arms.

“I… I found Lance.”

xxx

“You’re okay, you’re okay, _hermano,”_ Hunk whispered. _“Estás bien. Estás bien. Estoy aquí._ Please just… just hold still. We’re almost done, _lo prometo,_ I promise.”

Hunk darted his eyes up from Lance’s face, his forehead beneath a cold cloth but scrunched brows still visible while his eyes were hidden too behind a sheer cloth — his pupils were horribly dilated, Coran had noted when they arrived at the infirmary and the amount of light in the room right now would only hurt him — past Shiro holding down Lance’s torso, past Keith holding down long legs and to where Coran was stationed by Lance’s feet.

“Almost done?” Hunk pleaded, his stomach turning at the reminder of the quick glimpse he’d seen.

Lance’s feet had been flayed.

The bottoms of his feet were more ribbons of flesh than anything Hunk could describe; blood and gore and pus and clearly infected.

Hunk had vomited.

Twice.

Now he was sitting by Lance’s head, holding tight to one hand while Pidge held the other and Allura had a gentle but strong hand pressed on Lance’s chest to hold him still, and trying his best to comfort him while Coran cleaned and disinfected and bandaged the tattered flesh. 

Because Lance couldn’t go in a pod.

Not for a long while.

His body was too weak, Coran had explained.

There was the infection from his feet but it was more than that.

He was ill.

Very, very ill.

Pneumonia, if Hunk’s suspicion was correct.

It matched what Shiro had shakily described; a cold, wet cell and combined with the gag restricting Lance’s breathing and his lack of dress and the lack of sustenance (Coran had quietly said Lance had lost nearly fifteen pounds by his initial scan and his body showed signs of starvation symptoms) it all culminated in a perfect breeding ground for pneumonia to set in. 

The pods healed many things. 

They didn’t heal illness.

And that only began to describe what it was Lance had gone through.

Hunk was trying hard not to think about the rest — the chains they’d had to cut from his wrists, the aversion to light, the cold and dark and out of the way cell — and what it meant.

He’d been there for a _month._

Hunk had spent every minute of that time in constant worry, in fear, in barely managed anxiety attacks that the team — Keith, especially, to his surprise — had gotten too good at helping him with, imagining the worst, praying for the best, and yet reality was nothing that he could have ever prepared for.

Only he, Shiro and Coran had been allowed into the infirmary at first and he’d helped as best he could to ease Lance’s thin and bruised body — wrapped in just the emergency blanket from the Green Lion — into loose informary pants and a matching shirt in soft teal — and wipe away the dried blood in the corners of his mouth and sit by as Coran performed a quick examination both by hand and with the Altean medical scanner to give them an idea of what Lance had gone through and what to treat first.

The only positive Hunk had yet to hear about anything was that Coran reported there were no signs of sexual assault; an unfortunately valid fear especially due to the state he’d been found in.

At least there was that.

Coran had hooked up a vein valve — the Altean version of an IV — with a basic nutrient solution as while they still had to wait for the results of the blood test that Coran had already withdrawn and began in the laboratory corner of the infirmary he said it was simple enough not to react to most drugs and given the absence of any injection bruises that he could find Coran was hopeful Lance had nothing foreign in his system.

Hunk lied.

Two positive things.

He tried to focus on those and the fact Lance was alive, he was here, they were going to keep him safe, over the rest pressing in. He could not afford to have another anxiety attack right now, not when Lance was finally here and he needed to be here for him.

Lance’s temperature was nearly one hundred and two but the way he kept shaking and now shivering, even with clothes, would indicate the opposite. Another mark for pneumonia, Hunk tallied. The fever wasn’t too dangerous though, not yet, and Coran said with proper fluids and treatment and rest they should be able to keep it that way.

Hunk prayed so.

And if Lance’s shivers were pronounced then the shallow, rapid breathing that only halted when painful sounding coughs seized him, were even moreso. 

Hunk knew it wasn’t physically possible but he was legit concerned Lance would either hack out a lung, shiver out of his skin, or possibly both.

He was so _thin._

Had… had they fed him? Even once? For a _month?_

The rest of the team had pretty much barreled in once Lance was dressed and Hunk couldn’t blame them as if they’d told him to wait outside he’d have broken down the door. Pidge had squeezed him so tight he thought he might have bruises from her glasses in his side but he didn’t care and had hugged her back just as tight.

Lance hadn’t woken up once through all of it.

Exhaustion, Coran had explained when Pidge had demanded, voice high with tears, why that was so, and it was best for now not to wake him. Not when he would be in so much pain and temporarily blinded as they protected his eyes.

But once they’d started trying to clean his feet…

He hadn’t awoken, not completely, but he’d begun moving then, weakly trying to maneuver his feet away, broken little cries sounding, and hence why the entire team was now involved in holding him steady so Coran could work.

It was worse than they’d thought.

The injuries were not from one single instance, Coran reported. There were levels of healing and infection and shredded flesh. The most recent he’d put at just a couple days, the reason why there was so much fresh blood, but the oldest… at least several weeks.

Probably not long after he’d been taken.

Coran had not given voice to his thoughts as to the _why_ but Hunk hadn’t needed him to. There would only be one of two reasons why Lance’s feet and Lance’s feet alone had been tortured.

One; it prevented him from running away as there was no physical way for anyone to walk like that.

Two; and the one Hunk could just feel was the reason it had happened, was that Lance… Lance had fought back because Lance was not a quitter and would not have gone quietly. And his legs were strong, his best defense. The Galra had taken it away. They… they had punished him for lashing out.

And then they kept doing it. For a reminder, for fun, to torture him for information, that Hunk didn’t know.

But the Galra had hurt Lance.

And now…. so was Team Voltron. 

Not intentionally, God no, but Lance was in distress and pain and they were causing it.

“Two more dobashes,” Coran said, his voice steady if thick but Hunk clung to it as much as he did to Lance’s hand. 

Lance’s foot gave another violent twitch and Keith leaned more of his body weight over Lance’s lower legs, his hands braced on his ankles.

Hunk saw Keith’s arms trembling.

He didn’t think it was from the positon. 

Lance let out a high, soft keen, his head tossing on the pillow and his foot gave another hard twitch, nearly kicking out.

Hunk felt like someone had just plunged a dagger into his heart and twisted it.

Lance sounded so _scared._

“Lance, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Hunk turned his gaze back to Lance’s half-obscured face. “It’s okay, _hermano. Estoy aquí. Estás seguro. Lo prometo._ ”

Lance gasped out a breath.

A word.

 _“_ No,” it came again, a moan. “N-no.”

His body gave a more forceful jerk and Coran snapped out a sharp, “Princess!” and Allura joined him by Lance’s feet, lending her strength as Lance made every effort to wrench himself free of Keith’s grip and Hunk had to resecure his own hold on Lance’s hand, apologies falling from his lips as his fingers closed about the dark bruises embedded in Lance’s wrists from too-tight manacles. 

“Coran,” Hunk begged as Lance let out another choked cry and another toss of his head removed the cloth and revealed the beginnings of tears starting to trickle down his cheeks. Hunk could feel Lance’s pulse, rapid and fluttering, under his hand and already shallow breaths were turning more so.

Hunk’s heart lurched.

Lance was working himself into a panic attack and with his lungs already compromised...

He couldn’t breathe.

“Stop!” Hunk’s scream scared even him but it had the desired effect as Coran put down Lance’s foot and Shiro and Keith simultaneously released their holds.

Hunk was there then, pulling Lance into a sit, tipping him to rest against his extended arm and patting Lance’s back as hard as he dared given how _breakable_ Lance was now with the other.

A second later Lance’s gasps were turning back to coughs and blood-tinged mucus exited his mouth.

He went limp over Hunk’s arm a second later, breathing rapid but at least he was doing so once more. 

Hunk let out a shuddering one of his own and wrapped Lance more securely in his arms, as if a hug was capable of fixing all of this. Hunk swallowed back the sob threatening to choke him, blinked hard against the hot tears.

He just…

Just…

Hunk hugged Lance tighter, pressing his face into the greasy, unkept hair. He felt Pidge’s small arms wrap about him, heard her own hiccuped gasp.

That was all it took for his own to spill over.

Hunk’s sobs shook all three of them. 

xxx

The only sound in the infirmary were Lance’s shallow, wet breaths, broken up intermittently by a painful, violent cough that shook his entire body.

It had been exactly three hundred and twenty ticks since the last one. Keith knew. He hadn’t stopped counting.

He had to focus on something other than how… how _quiet_ Lance was.

Keith hated it.

He’d never much cared for how animated Lance was, always getting into personal space and being so _loud_ with both his laughs and words and just his presence. 

He hated the silence more.

The stillness.

He’d only seen Lance like this once before; lying so so still that Keith thought he was dead, that the explosion had killed him not even a week after they’d launched into space. 

Now it was barely four months by his count and Lance had been missing for a quarter of that.

Missing and being tortured and starved and hurt and—

Keith’s hands tightened, nails digging into his palms and only his gloves preventing them from piercing skin.

He hated it.

He hated this.

He hated any reminder that gave way to the memory of before Shiro, before the Garrison, before he’d been _saved._

He needed Lance to wake up. He needed him to do what he’d done with Sendak’s invasion; make a joke, smile, show them that no matter how hurt he was that he was going to be okay.

Even though…

Lance wasn’t okay.

Keith didn’t know if he would be. 

He hated that he’d even given that thought any hold but he couldn’t help it. That’s what always happened after all, why he’d told himself he shouldn’t get close to anyone. They always left.

His pop. Shiro. And while he and Lance weren’t close, not really, he… he still cared. He found that he cared more than he thought when Lance was missing because the hole he left behind was like a black one; it sucked out happiness and laughter all around the ship. 

And Lance was back now, but…

But was he? Really?

Because there was no way that he would be the same obnoxious, loudmouth, personable, _kind_ person he once was after what he’d gone through. 

Would he blame them? 

Would he have become bitter? Angry?

Would he be like the boy Keith once was? Sometimes still was?

He hoped not.

But…

But he didn’t know.

And even though Lance was right here…

It still felt like he wasn’t.

And if he didn’t come back…

Keith had lost someone else.

Again.

A wet cough jolted him from his thoughts and he leaned forward on the uncomfortable infirmary chair as though being closer would somehow help.

He had no idea how to care for people; sick or otherwise.

But here he still was because being elsewhere felt wrong.

It was just him for the moment; Hunk and Shiro both had blood on their armor and needed to get cleaned and they had been instructed to take showers and change before they came back. 

Pidge had gone to change too and grab her tablet while Allura had said she was going to retrieve couches and chairs, the implication clear and had been the only reason Hunk had left under his own power although he’d paused several times until Shiro had placed a hand on his back and steered him out. 

Coran was in and out of the infirmary to the bridge as they still needed to be moving the castle out of the airspace they’d just blown that base sky high in and Allura had said she would be assisting there for a little bit to direct the castle.

That left Keith. His armor hadn’t been bloodied, he hadn’t felt the need to change so he’d just pulled off the chest plate and arm braces and was keeping a vigil until the others arrived back. Lance had no idea he was there but leaving him alone when he was sick and… and _scared_ wasn’t right. 

Lance let out another hoarse cough followed by a whimper, curling up on his side. His hands were pressed together at the wrist and held at his chest no matter how many times Hunk had pulled one apart from the other.

Shiro had thickly said it was the position he’d found Lance in back in the cell. His body was just… automatically going to it. 

It made Keith feel sick. 

It was a defensive pose, a defeated pose, a, a _child’s_ pose, and it looked so _wrong_ on Lance.

The shifting had made the washcloth on Lance’s forehead slip down, partially obscuring the soft blindfold Coran had secured after Lance kept dislodging it.

Keith reached for it, fibers warm and damp to the touch. He then lifted it fully away, planning to bring it to the sink across the way and recool it, but paused, frowning.

The flush on Lance’s visible parts of his cheeks looked darker.

Keith tentatively lifted a hand and placed it against Lance’s damp bangs.

Heat pulsed at him.

“Fuck,” he swore softly.

“Language,” came a tired but very slightly amused voice from the infirmary door.

Keith didn’t smile, whirling instead to face Shiro as he entered.

“Shiro, he’s burning up,” Keith blurted out.

The ghost of a smile faded from Shiro’s face and his steps ate up the room, at the bedside in a few strides. His hand slid beneath Lance’s bangs and Keith couldn’t even muster up a smirk as Shiro swore too. 

“Temperature?” Shiro asked and Keith felt unnaturally clumsy as he fumbled for the scanner Coran had left behind.

One hundred and three point one.

God.

God what the actual _fuck?_

Shiro was already pulling Lance into his arms, the smaller boy trembling and whimpering, and turned to Keith. “Get Coran. Meet us at Allura’s bathtub.”

He said something else, maybe hurry, but Keith was already gone, pulse roaring in his ears and drowning out his rapid footfalls.

But it couldn’t drown out his thoughts, a darker iteration from his earlier fears.

Lance was here.

But soon…

Soon he might not be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commission fic (10k) for thefevertrope and chosen by voters as the next chaptered fic to post. If you enjoy the fic please consider leaving a comment; the small details make my day ♥  
> (fic will update 1-3 weeks on Sundays based on comment engagement)


	2. Two

They were back.

Lance could hear them, muffled voices still too loud after so much silence.

Their hands were on him, cruelly warm, and he shivered violently, wanting them to leave, wanting them to stay.

He knew what those hands would do. 

He knew they’d hurt.

He also knew they’d leave.

He hated it.

He craved it.

He was so _cold._

The voices grew in volume and he tried not to flinch as it only made them louder and harsher and then they would—

 _Cold_ and _wet_ struck.

He couldn’t help it. He yelled and thrashed, faintly hearing himself and dully realizing they’d ungagged him, as cold cold _cold_ washed over him and the sounds grew louder.

How long would it be until they drowned him this time? 

Until they pulled his face into the stream and he choked and drowned and they _laughed_ and told him they’d stop if he would just answer their questions?

Lance didn’t think he even knew the answers.

He still wouldn’t.

He knew that much. 

They were bad. They wanted to hurt people.

They hurt him.

He didn’t want to be hurt anymore.

He kicked weakly out, trying to do anything as more hands grabbed at him and more cold and wet and hurt covered him.

His foot connected with something.

He screamed.

It _hurt._

_Dios._

He screamed again as a hand wrapped around his ankle.

 _Dios,_ no.

He hadn’t…

He just…

Please, please, _por favor,_ don’t…

Don’t do _that._

Not again.

He was sorry. _Lo siento lo siento por favor no, por favor, detente—_

The hand disappeared.

Lance shook.

It would come back. It would come back with the switch, the blade, the cord, the cuffs to hold him down and _por favor, por favor, lo siento mucho—_

It came back.

But it only held his ankle again, tight but not painfully so.

Why?

What were they planning? 

Lance struggled to see but there was nothing there.

They’d left the blindfold on.

They loved to do that.

They loved to remove it too and shine bright lights in his face and he cried because that hurt too and they’d laugh and do it again and again and again and again and—

One of the hands was on his face and Lance tensed and choked out more apologies even though they did nothing but sometimes, sometimes, they’d stop and call him pathetic and they’d leave him alone again and he hated being alone but he hated being hurt and he didn’t know what he wanted he just wanted everything to stop hurting and he wanted to go _home_ and please, he didn’t know anything he didn’t he didn’t and he really didn’t know if he did but if he did he couldn’t tell them because they’d hurt people but they were hurting him but he couldn’t let them hurt others and _Dios, por favor,_ make it _stop._

No bright light though seared his eyes and no pain erupted on his feet and the water didn’t even pour over his face.

The hands remained though; his ankles and his face and he could feel another one on his back and legs but they…

They weren’t pinching and prodding and _hurting._

He didn’t know what that meant.

He trembled, waiting for the inevitable pain.

It didn’t come.

The voices were still talking but they weren’t laughing, weren’t jeering and cruel. He strained to hear them over the constant aching in his head, the pounding of his pulse and the coughs that left his ears ringing and throat sobbing. 

“—shh, it’s okay, it’s okay buddy, you’re gonna be all right—”

The voice sounded…

Familiar.

Maybe.

He couldn’t remember. 

But…

But it sounded…

_Nice._

Something pricked his arm and it hurt but it didn’t hurt too much and that same soft voice was talking and its hand gently stroked his cheek and it felt nice too and Lance knew he shouldn’t, knew it would only make them laugh and be even crueler later, but he turned his face into the touch, into _warmth,_ and maybe, maybe, if he wished hard enough he could pretend it was his papá’s hand and when he next opened his eyes he’d be _home_ and _safe_ and…

And…

And he felt so tired now.

The water was still cold and it hurt but the warm hand was still there and it felt so nice. For the first time that he could remember Lance felt himself drifting off to sleep without the press of nightmares.

xxx

Lance’s fever broke the next morning. 

Shiro was the only one still awake when Coran made the announcement and he knew the same relief was mirrored in his own gaze as it was Coran’s exhausted jewel-toned one. 

It had been close.

Lance’s fever had spiked unexpectedly — Coran had quietly said his best guess was the temperature change as the cold cell had ultimately been good for something — and they’d spent nearly the last eighteen hours doing all they could to keep it from rising any more with Altean medicine (in small doses as Coran didn’t know how well they reacted to human biology) and cool baths followed by wash cloths and repeat.

They’d ended up sedating Lance early in when he’d had a violent reaction to the water and the care and Shiro’s heart twisted in remembrance of the pleas and broken words that Lance had choked out.

It had confirmed what they’d feared.

Lance had been tortured for information; likely something relating to Voltron. 

Shiro hadn’t known what to feel when it became clear that Lance hadn’t said anything. Fierce pride. Horror. Despair. And gut-wrenching guilt that it was because of him that Lance, that any of them, were up here and in danger in the first place.

It should have been him.

His gaze left Lance — curled up again on his side no matter how many times they rolled him onto his back until Coran had tiredly just said to leave him and they’d propped him up with pillows from that side to help with his breathing, hands tucked back together against his chest — to drift about the rest of the group gathered now in Allura’s bedroom she had graciously given up as her large in-ground tub had proved invaluable for Lance’s care.

Keith was curled up in the corner of the couch and Pidge had during the overnight drifted more and more so that she was now using Keith as a pillow, one of her small hands gripping his jacket and Shiro smiled softly at the image.

The chair Coran had been using was vacated and the older Altean had excused himself to freshen up as he, like Shiro and Hunk, were in half-stiff clothes from constantly going in and out of Allura’s tub with Lance and Shiro didn’t honestly think Coran had slept once yet during this although he and the others had intermittently taken naps.

Hunk was slumped in the other chair, his head resting on Lance’s bed and one arm outstretched from where he had been holding Lance’s hand until Lance had pulled away when Hunk’s grip loosened in sleep and curled up the other direction.

That image made Shiro’s smile fall.

He couldn’t say he knew Lance all that well and was still getting to know Hunk, but he did know the two of them were inseparable and while he knew it had been literally an unconscious move on Lance’s part to pull away it still looked wrong.

And sad.

A cup of tea entered his vision and Shiro looked past it, tracing the arm to Allura, who had left several hours ago to move the castle, and she gave him a tired smile. 

He uttered a soft thanks and took the cup, shifting over so Allura could sit on the other couch next to him. 

“His fever broke,” Shiro said quietly.

“Coran informed me,” Allura said just as softly. “I am grateful for such news.”

Silence broken only by Lance’s still weak coughs echoed in the large bed chamber.

A dark hand landed gently atop Shiro’s prosthetic resting on his lap and he nearly dropped his tea cup at the action. Allura though only smiled again and gave it the barest squeeze. “And how are you, Shiro?”

“...tired,” he admitted after a minute.

“Then rest.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I…” his eyes darted back to Lance, still blindfolded but otherwise his face was free of obstruction and the dark flush of fever, and dressed in fresh and dry infirmary garb with a peek of the vein valve cord visible and snaking away to the fluid pack hung at the beside from where Lance had tucked his arms up.

He looked so _small_ and it wasn’t just because he’d lost weight. 

“You must rest, Shiro,” Allura said gently. 

He knew that.

He knew pushing himself to remain awake would do him no favors nor Lance.

But he knew all that awaited him were nightmares and memories and he was too exhausted to face them right now. 

Allura’s hand gently closed about his holding the teacup and she eased it away, setting it to the side, and before Shiro could protest she was guiding him to lean against her shoulder.

Shiro couldn’t explain the sudden lump that rose into his throat at the gesture.

“Rest,” she murmured. “I shall keep watch.”

And to Shiro’s surprise he did.

xxx

Pidge carded her hands through Lance’s hair, trailing cleaned and shampooed strands that were nothing like the oily, dirty, _bloody_ ones from before through her hands.

Lance shifted ever so, pushing his head against her hand.

It was cute, in a sad way that made her stomach clench uncomfortably. Because while Lance had always craved touch before, hair ruffles and hugs and draping long limbs every which way, there was a desperate feel to it now.

He would lean in and then a few seconds later pull back, sometimes whimpering or flinching.

He was touch starved.

Pidge had gone over the information she’d had on the cell, on the details she’d gleaned since they’d rescued Lance.

The cell had been cold; temperature hovering just around forty degrees that certainly wasn’t enough to kill a human but more than enough to make it beyond uncomfortable after a few hours and after a month…

Lance would have sought out anything warm, including, after a point where base instinct had kicked in over everything else, his captors. But their touches, while no doubt warmer than anything in his cell, would have been cruel and inflicted only pain.

Hence the back and forth that hurt to watch. 

It was why she had given him her heat pack, a squishy disc-like item that retained a gentle heat for several hours at a time. It wasn’t shaped like a hand, which had its own set of connotations, and given how he’d taken to curling up on his side and pressing his hands to his chest — to keep them warm, to keep them safe, to comfort himself, and it _hurt_ to see what had become second-nature to him now — at least this way it almost looked like he was cuddling something.

It had been two hours now since she’d given it to him, wedging it between his hands and chest, mindful of the dark bruises and bandages on his wrists, and Pidge was grateful to see that Lance had been pulling away less and less.

She knew it would be better once Lance could see, as he still had a blindfold on even though Coran had dimmed all the lights in Allura’s room to a soft glow, but as it was even their words didn’t seem to be getting through; partially with how sick and exhausted he still was even with the fever gone and also no doubt weeks of mostly isolation as far as Pidge could figure and forced silence on his part — her blood boiled when she’d been told he’d been _gagged_ because one of Lance’s greatest comforts was talking himself up and telling stories of home and he hadn’t even been able to do that.

Tone though, tone was registering.

And he really liked the sound of Shiro’s voice.

That brought a smile to her face.

Shiro had always sounded soothing to her too; a direct contrast to Matt but just as comforting and he just made her feel _safe._ She didn’t know the history but she knew Keith had discovered the same and while Lance had always idolized Shiro there was something different about getting to _know_ him as a part of Voltron and their leader and even though this set of circumstances was completely different seeing Lance always untense when he heard Shiro speak was a beautiful sight indeed.

The only negative was how it hurt Hunk, and try as he might she had seen his face crumple when Lance would tense when he spoke and even Lance’s native tongue hadn’t been so warmly received.

But Hunk had had the best results with touch.

Pidge had no doubt it was from the two of them growing up together but ever since Lance’s fever had broken and the sedative had mostly phased through his system he seemed to know that Hunk’s hold was one he didn’t have to fear, even if he did try and tug his hand back to his chest and Hunk had let him, merely going with and having his own sandwiched between Lance’s hands and his chest.

That’s where Hunk was now, lying next to Lance on Allura’s large bed with their foreheads pressing together and one of his hands caught and his other resting atop the small pile and rubbing his thumb back and forth, murmuring words too quiet for Pidge to hear even from her spot next to Lance’s head atop several pillows, but they were calm and gentle and that’s what Lance needed to hear right now.

Gentle touches, as unobtrusive as they could be, avoiding any areas that seemed to have been favorites of the Galrans — Lance’s feet for sure but his wrists and arms (peppered in bruises no doubt from pinching and scratches from claws) and even his back and stomach where there were more bruises and even open sores and small infected wounds that Coran had treated and were now bandaged beneath the large infirmary shirt — were what they were concentrating on for now. 

Everyone was taking turns, even if it was just resting a hand on Lance’s upturned shoulder (Keith) or stroking the back of Lance’s hands (Allura) and ever since the introduction of the heat pack Lance had been more and more receptive.

He still wasn’t awake though, not really. 

But his breathing, minus that awful sounding cough, had deepened just a couple minutes ago and it almost sounded…

Peaceful.

He was finally resting.

Pidge bent her head down, pressing her lips against Lance’s hair as Matt always used to do for her after he’d made sure there were no monsters under the bed.

“You’re safe,” she whispered to him, hearing Matt’s echo of the same words, the same pledge. “I’m here. And… and I’ll protect you. So,” her throat felt thick and she swallowed. “So, sleep. You’re safe now.”

She pressed another kiss to the top of his head.

And then she pressed her face into one of the pillows to hide the tears she couldn’t stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying the fic please consider leaving a comment. The small details make my day :) Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to comment last chapter and extra special thank yous to those who left such lovely, detailed (long!) comments. I really appreciate it and they definitely cheered me up this week. And since I had a few inquiries, this fic was written in August 2019 so no relation to the current pandemic, I'm glad everyone is enjoying the rotating viewpoints, and yes, elements of this fic remind me a lot of _Color_ too :)  
> (updates 1-3 weeks on Sundays based on comment engagement)


	3. Three

Hunk tried not to get his hopes up as Lance stirred more than he had in the entire last day minus the still heaving coughs that they had to haul him to a sit and pat his back so he didn’t choke as he expelled mucus and sickness. 

But this was no cough and didn’t seem to be a nightmare either as while Lance was twitching he wasn’t whimpering and he wasn’t actively trying to pull his hand free of Hunk’s gentle grip.

“Is he…?” Keith voiced the very thing Hunk couldn’t, standing up and coming to his side.

Hunk gave the barest shake of his head.

He wanted Lance to wake up.

But he was afraid.

No matter what Lance would always be his best friend, his brother. But the Lance here… he was going to be different from who he had once been.

And if he was actually waking up almost four days now after they’d found him…

They were about to find out how much.

“Lance?” Hunk whispered, stroking his thumb across Lance’s knuckles. “ _Hermano?_ Can… can you hear me?”

Lance’s hand twitched.

Hunk took that as a maybe.

He wished he could see Lance’s eyes.

He wished Lance could see him.

“It’s me, Hunk. You’re, you’re safe. You’re in the castle.” Hunk fought to keep his voice even, steady, even though he could feel it trying to pitch up, to ramble as he did when he was nervous. Keith placed a calming hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Hunk sucked in a breath and gave a short nod. Calm. Steady.

Focus. 

They’d gone over the steps; one person would speak so as not to overwhelm Lance, especially as he couldn’t see. They’d reassure him he was safe, reiterate it as many times as needed. 

Hunk did so again.

“You’re safe now. We, we rescued you. Me and Pidge and Shiro and Keith and Allura and Coran. Re-remember them? We’re all up here in space. You’re safe, _hermano._ We’re taking care of you now. You’ve been really sick, but… but you’re doing better now.”

Lance was still silent.

Hunk swallowed thickly.

Was Lance hearing him?

Was he understanding?

Did… did he remember?

Did he want to?

“When, whenever you want to wake up we’ll all be here. We’ve all been so…” Hunk’s voice tightened despite his best efforts. “Worried. And sc-scared. But, but you’re here now. You’re safe. And we’re here. And we’ll take care of you. I promise. So, so…”

So please wake up.

Please be okay.

Please come back.

Hunk squeezed the hand he was holding.

Lance squeezed back. 

It was a faint thing, barely any pressure. But it wasn’t a twitch, it wasn’t a motion to pull away.

It was definitely a squeeze.

Hunk blinked.

Stared at their conjoined hands.

Tears filled his eyes.

“Lance,” he choked out. “Lance, _por favor,_ please, _hermano,_ can, can you say something? Can you hear me? I… I…”

Lance’s lips parted.

His tongue flicked out, moistening them.

And then…

“...Hunk?”

It was raspy and hoarse and if Hunk hadn’t been praying for it he might not have recognized it as a word let alone his name.

It was the most beautiful iteration of it he’d ever heard.

“ _Sí, sí,_ yes,” Hunk babbled, barely aware of Keith squeezing his shoulder and leaving to no doubt get Coran. “ _Estoy aquí._ I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Lance’s lips trembled.

“Hunk,” he whispered. “H-Hunk.”

“Right here, _hermano._ Right here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Lance’s hand tightened on his but Hunk could feel the tremble through the arm at even that effort. And even though things were different, so so different, Hunk knew what Lance was trying to say with just that.

“Can, can I hug you?” Hunk managed to get out, asking where he never would have before but no sudden movements, nothing that Lance might interpret as an attack or pain, and he let out a low sob when Lance gave a tip of his head.

He slipped his hands beneath the slender back where it still felt like too hard and he might break Lance in two, and carefully lifted him to a sit and then tilted him against his chest, one arm coming up to wrap around Lance’s back and the other to cup his head, smoothing fingers through dark hair.

Lance’s fingers latched into Hunk’s shirt.

Hunk found his sobs once more shaking Lance but this time…

This time he couldn’t have been happier.

Lance was _here._

And he was going to be okay. 

xxx

“Hey.”

Keith kept his voice pitched low, had made sure to shuffle his feet on Allura’s carpet in a way he normally never would, rattled the cutlery on the tray, and had made every effort to both announce his presence and keep it from being too loud.

Lance still flinched when he spoke.

He did that a lot with voices and they all hoped it would be something that went away when Lance regained his sight. His blindfold was more sheer material now so he could vaguely see shapes and some light filtering through but his world was still mostly dark as his eyes readjusted.

As soon as tomorrow afternoon, Coran had announced that morning. The lights in rooms Lance was in would still need to be dim but his pupil response was improving day by day and the time was almost there.

It was a week since they’d rescued Lance.

Three days since clarity had returned.

And they still knew almost nothing.

Most of that came from the fact that Lance didn’t talk.

He’d whisper Hunk’s name, twice he’d said Pidge’s when she’d been talking quietly with him and stroking his hair, and one time Shiro’s, although it had been more of a sob than a word and Lance had fallen asleep in Shiro’s arms shortly thereafter.

That was it.

They all knew not to push.

Lance may never want to talk about it, Coran had told them all quietly. Everyone processed trauma in different ways. 

Keith would have had to have been blind to miss the way Shiro had twitched, had hunched his shoulders in. Keith had surprised himself by sliding his hand into Shiro’s flesh one and surprised more when Shiro had squeezed back. 

Keith wasn’t one to generally initiate physical displays but Shiro had always been there for Keith. Now it was his turn to be there for him.

Right now the focus was on Lance’s health. He had put a couple pounds on with Coran’s nutrient supplements via the vein valve but he was still severely underweight. They had managed to garner with a series of nods and headshakes that Lance had been fed by his count twice.

That was it.

For a month.

And water…

Water had come via a daily dousing with a hose.

While Lance was gagged.

Any further inquiry was shut down with head shakes and flushed cheeks.

The pneumonia seemed to have run its course but Lance’s body was still weak and susceptible, especially with the still healing wounds on his feet. It was still a joint effort to change the bandages and reapply salves to prevent infection as Lance would shake and whimper and kick out before falling into choked out words in Spanish that Hunk had told them were a mixture of apologies and pleas and Keith hated that that was the only other time Lance would speak.

He sounded so _scared_ and nothing any of them said — even Hunk or Shiro — made a difference.

It was a fully involved flashback, Coran said, and Shiro had twitched again and Keith hated how helpless all of it made him feel, with every touch, sound and sensation a relived nightmare. The best thing they could do for now was finish the procedure quickly and quietly and offer what comforting touches they could.

A pod would fix them in a matter of hours — although they’d scar and scar badly — but Lance still wasn’t strong enough to go into the cryo-sequence. It needed to happen soon though, Coran had said, voice heavy, as he feared for Lance’s ability to walk. The injuries were… were barbaric, and that was all they’d gotten from him on the specifics. Keith was fine with that. He didn’t want to know. 

He knew enough.

And he knew that there was no death too slow for the Galra that had done this. He wished he knew who they were, where they had gone (as the base had been fully sentry-operated) so they could hunt them down and make sure they never hurt Lance again.

But that wouldn’t help Lance now. 

So Keith forced himself to let it go and focus on what he could do.

And that meant holding awkward, one-sided conversations as they all needed to talk to Lance, Coran said, which had gotten better once Shiro or Hunk joined him and they seemed to be pros at including a silent party.

Keith took comfort in the fact Pidge seemed just as bad at it although unlike him she would cuddle right up to Lance’s side, hold his hand and stroke his hair. Keith couldn’t do that. Shiro was the only person he’d ever felt that comfortable with and recently he’d gotten to a degree of closeness with Hunk he had never expected. His touches were regulated to Lance’s shoulder and sometimes his knee through the blankets but Hunk and Shiro had nodded and smiled their approval and Lance had started to relax after a few minutes of contact, even leaning into it sometimes, so Keith figured he couldn’t be screwing up too bad.

That still didn’t make the flinches any easier. 

It didn’t make any of this easier.

Lance was a shell of himself and it made something uncomfortable settle in Keith’s chest to witness.

“Hey Keith,” Pidge greeted from where she was on the bed next to Lance, curled up at his side with her laptop playing some soft music in front of them. 

Lance’s hands were tucked up at his chest even now.

“I, um, brought soup,” Keith held the tray up unnecessarily, pulling his gaze away. Lance had been taken off the vein valve nutrients yesterday and was on light broths made by the conjoined efforts of Hunk and Coran. 

“Hungry, Lance?” Pidge asked brightly.

Too brightly.

She caught Keith’s eye as she said it and gave the barest shake of her head.

Lance had checked out again.

He would do that; flit from awareness and knowing he was in the castle, that he had been rescued, and was as responsive as he got, and then he’d be the opposite where he’d close in on himself, nearly catatonic, and had his eyes been visible Keith had no doubt he’d be staring at something only he could see, as he blocked out the world around him as best he could. Sometimes it passed in a few minutes and other times it was a few hours.

It was a self-defense mechanism.

It was one Keith knew too well even though he had yet to witness it on Lance until now.

It was what spurred him to put the soup on the table and clamber into the large bed, settling himself on Lance’s other side and gently brushing their shoulders against one another but otherwise not touching him.

“Lance,” Keith said his name gently.

Lance flinched again.

Keith wet his lips. 

And he began to speak.

“The first day I met Shiro he took me to the zoo. We spent the whole day there. We saw the penguins and the dolphins and the tigers and, and my favorite animal. Hippos. There was a mom actually with a baby. His name was Boris. And her name was Helga.”

Keith knew he wasn’t a very good storyteller. But he ploughed on with every detail he could remember, words tumbling over themselves. 

And by the time Keith’s throat was hurting and he knew the soup had to be disgustingly cold, Lance had untensed, his hands had slid from where he’d locked them to his chest to his lap and Keith and Pidge had each claimed one.

“And that was our trip to the zoo,” Keith finished with, nearly rasping. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken so much but… but as much as his throat was paying for it he knew it had been the right decision. He’d have given… given _anything_ for someone, for something, to pull him from those dark places and while he would never be to Lance what Shiro had been to him, maybe…

Maybe it had helped.

Lance had relaxed, at least, and while his head was angled down Keith didn’t get the impression he was staring at nothing this time. 

And since he was looking, trying to catch a glimpse of Lance’s face through his bangs, he saw the slender throat swallow.

And then...

“...hippos?”

The word was barely audible but the volume didn’t matter. The word didn’t even matter.

Lance had…

Lance had spoken.

Keith pretended the rasp to his voice then was from talking nearly non-stop for the last hour as he responded with, “The best animal.”

Lance gave a tiny shake of his head.

“What’s your favorite then?” Keith asked, hoping for an answer, preparing for none. 

A beat of silence.

And then...

“Sharks.”

“Sharks,” Keith repeated, Pidge echoing him, feeling his face splitting into a smile he couldn’t suppress if he tried.

Lance was...

“Reef sharks,” Lance clarified, misinterpreting the response. 

Pidge’s voice was thick as she spoke. “Why… why reef sharks?”

“They’re… they’re like puppies.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Pidge choked out and she reached her other hand out to Keith and he took it, squeezing it tight, his eyes stinging and warm hope blooming in his chest and pushing out the icy fear.

Because maybe...

Because Lance was still here after all. 

xxx

“Nice and slow now, easy does it,” Coran murmured, his hands freeing the knot holding the blindfold around Lance’s head. “Let me know if you have any pain now, all right?”

Lance gave a tiny nod, his lips a thin line.

“It’s going to be okay, buddy,” Shiro said, squeezing Lance’s knee. “You’re doing great.”

Everyone was gathered in Allura’s room for the literal unveiling as the blindfold was removed and Lance would be able to see them — see _anything,_ really — for the first time in over a month.

Shiro was hopeful this would be a large step forward in Lance’s recovery. Although, he sent a soft, fond look in Keith’s direction where the younger boy was standing behind Hunk with a hand on the large shoulder, they’d already made large progress from yesterday. 

Lance was talking.

Not a lot, little phrases or a few words. But he was speaking again and he’d only had one dissociative moment since yesterday and it had only lasted a few minutes. 

Shiro knew it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Lance was still going to have good days and bad days and all types in between and it was going to be a recovery process for them all.

Especially himself, Shiro was forced to admit.

He didn’t remember a lot of his time with the Galrans and when memories tried to creep in he suppressed them.

It wasn’t healthy.

It wasn’t safe.

And he’d caught Keith looking at him with undisguised concern far more often than he used to and Coran and even Allura had started now too and Shiro knew it was going to be something they needed to address.

And maybe…

Hopefully…

It would be for the best.

For now though his focus was on Lance, on helping him heal in whatever way he needed. 

“There we go,” Coran’s soft announcement brought Shiro back to the present events. 

The blindfold was gone.

And Lance had his eyes squinted shut tight. 

“Lance, lad, you can open your eyes,” Coran said gently. “I promise,” and there was something heavy in those words, “it will be all right.”

Shiro held his breath, well aware he wasn’t the only one.

And Lance slowly, slowly opened his eyes.

Dark blue eyes were nearly black in the low light but there was no missing the way they widened, filling with tears as they slowly moved about the room, pausing on each face.

No one spoke but the silence was warm.

“You’re…” Lance’s voice shook as he looked back to the room at large. “You’re all… all really h-here.” 

“We are,” Shiro smiled at him, gave Lance’s knee another squeeze. “And you’re here too.”

And Lance was never, ever, going to leave them again.

xxx

“H-hurts,” Lance whimpered.

He still didn’t try to pull away even as his arms trembled where he’d tucked them against his chest and tears had long overflowed and were dripping down his cheeks.

“I know, I know,” Coran murmured. “You’re being so brave, Lance. Just a few more dobashes, if we can.”

In answer Lance turned his face and buried it into Hunk’s shoulder, who in turn tightened his arms even more about Lance where he was sitting between his legs on the lounge floor.

Lance had come out of the pod yesterday, the Altean technology fully healing the remaining wounds that had not healed in the week and a half since Lance’s return.

It had not healed the atrophied muscles from both starvation and disuse. 

Coran had massaged Lance’s legs and arms and even his hands many times now and Hunk knew it had hurt each time.

But Lance’s feet were another story. They were healed but they were stiff and scarred and if that wasn’t enough almost any touch to them catapulted Lance back into his cell. The fact he was still with them and not locked in a flashback spoke leaps and bounds to how far he’d come even in just a few days.

It still didn’t make this any easier.

“You’re doing so good, _hermano,”_ Hunk said softly as Lance shook with a fullbody sob. “Coran’s almost done. And, and then we can get hot chocolate. How’s that sound? I think I’ve got the recipe cracked this time.” 

Hunk rambled then about the recipe, about the number of beans and how he was trying a different milk base and he hoped it would avoid getting a pudding consistency this go around although it hadn’t tasted bad at all so he could maybe make that for a dessert sometime.

Lance liked to hear sound.

He hated silence.

He hated to be alone too, even if he hadn’t come out and said it.

But he would hook his fingers into Hunk’s vest, Shiro or Pidge’s shirt, one time Allura’s hair, if they made to leave without reassuring him they’d be back. He constantly wanted to be touching someone or being held — another mark for touch starvation — even though sometimes he’d pull away, flush darkening his cheeks, if he felt it had been too long and didn’t want them to pull away first.

It was why they had a pretty much set rotation of two people at any given time, Lance always sandwiched between in some capacity, where he was always reminded they were there. Even Keith, and Hunk smiled at the memory, had been pulled into the more tactile approach and he’d actually been lying down next to Lance with Lance’s hand tangled in his mullet, Pidge on his other side and wrapped about Lance like a koala. Hunk had taken a mental snapshot to cherish forever. 

But unless someone was holding Lance’s hands or he’d snagged them on something, they would always gravitate back to his chest and he would curl on his right side, bowing inward.

Lance found some measure of comfort in the pose and no one would take that from him, but on more than one occasion when Shiro had come into the room and Lance was like that his steps would falter and if he spoke shortly after his voice would be thick.

Hunk had no doubt what Shiro was seeing. 

He offered Shiro almost as many hugs as he did Lance these days and although Shiro had stiffened at first he now firmly returned them, oftentimes with a rough-voiced, _“thanks, buddy.”_

The instinctual huddled position and touch starvation weren’t the only pieces of baggage Lance had brought back.

They’d found that showers were a no-go as Lance had panicked when the headpiece had turned on — too reminiscent of the hose nozzle. 

He flinched, even with Hunk, when he had to get changed from one set of clothes to another, and where nudity had never been taboo to Lance he shied from it now. Coran, with Hunk in the room, had gently asked him if the Galrans had… had done anything and Lance had vehemently shook his head, but…

But Hunk knew the power clothes had, forced nudity in front of fully clothed captors. It had been a regular move he knew from history to humiliate and subjugate prisoners and enemies. The fact they’d on top of that subjected Lance to hosings, kept him tied up and blinded and gagged and denied him food or facilities or, or anything resembling humane treatment…

Lance was still too weak, his body unaccustomed to having proper fluids and nutrients in it, and there’d been several accidents that brought them to a snowball effect of the above as he regularly needed changed and bathed. Lance had whimpered and apologized over and over, flinching and shrinking as they cleaned him and the linens up, and it made Hunk’s heart break all over again.

But there were glimmers of hope and of who Lance used to be sprinkled in throughout the day too.

He’d laughed yesterday, the first time since they’d rescued him, at one of Coran’s stories.

He’d asked for seconds of Hunk’s broth and gave a shadow of his old pout when Hunk had given him a single spoonful, mindful of Lance’s stomach capacity.

He’d taken to teasing Keith by asking question after question about hippos and seeing that mischievous twinkle in his eye had made Hunk beam like a proud parent for the rest of the day.

He’d watched Pidge playing a video game (system hauled into Allura’s room that she had conceded while Lance healed and was in a guest room down the hall) and given a quiet for him but still enthusiastic cheer when she’d beat apparently some very hard level.

But most telling was when he’d said he’d wanted to walk again. 

It was at his own insistence he go into the pod — of which Hunk knew Lance had developed a fear of — so he could fully heal his feet. He was the one who had asked Coran if he could assist with his feet to help them continue to recover even though he hated having them touched. 

And seeing him face that fear, that pain and hurt and memory, told them all they needed to know.

Lance was a fighter.

And he was going to beat this.

xxx

“L-lapped you,” Lance panted, sweat dotting his face as he took another halting step between the equipment Coran and Hunk had made for him, his hands braced on the bars. 

One pass of the length of it, just over twenty feet, equaled a quarter mile lap about the training hall.

Lance had challenged Keith to who could hit ten first. 

“Lance lapped you!” Pidge shouted out helpfully across the room as there was no way Keith would have heard.

She let out a bark of laughter at both Keith’s two raised middle fingers and Hunk’s scandalized “Keith, no!” at the gesture. 

“Language,” Shiro yelled, earning a more violently thrust hand into the air.

His own chuckles gave him away as not being serious.

“You are doing excellent, Lance,” Allura congratulated where she was being his spotter for this pass. 

“Th-thanks, ‘llura.” 

The flush to his cheeks may not have been entirely from exertion and it just made Shiro chuckle more. 

“Two more to go, buddy,” he said. “And then lunch. Hunk made you a really tasty looking smoothie.”

“Y-yay,” came the deadpan answer.

“We’re all eating something Coran made,” Pidge said, sticking out her tongue. “I wish I had your smoothie.”

“Number Five, I am offended!” Coran made a dramatic grab at his heart. “My Paladin Lunch Surprise is a true treat!”

Lance let out a breathless huff of laughter and took another shaking step.

Shiro couldn’t fight the grin forming on his face.

It had been a month since they’d rescued Lance and he had come _so_ far. 

They all had.

They’d come together as a team when Lance had first gone missing and that bond had only grown with Lance back; their missing piece. 

Their laughter and heart.

The halls of the castle rang with it now, was filled with smiles and joy and hope. 

Keith had put it surprisingly poetically to Shiro one night as Lance slept peacefully between them, his hands intertwined with each of theirs. 

The blackhole was gone.

And it had been replaced with stars. 

And looking at Lance now, his eyes dancing and his lips parted to reveal a smile brighter than any stars or the sun even though he was in pain and exhausted from the exercise, Shiro couldn’t agree more.

Lance was here, with them, in every sense of the word. 

And he was here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the fic? **Please leave a comment** (not just a kudo or a page click >>), I really appreciate it :) (and the small details make my day!) Thank you so much to those who take the time to do so ❤️  
> (Like my works? Want to read more? Visit my [Tumblr, icypantherwrites](http://icypantherwrites.tumblr.com/)).


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